


Shades of You

by GloriousGoblinQueen



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Back to the Future: The Game
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memories, Pining, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGoblinQueen/pseuds/GloriousGoblinQueen
Summary: After visiting Emmett in 193x, Marty must return to his own era. Emmett deals with the various reminders of Marty's absence.





	Shades of You

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this post here.](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com/post/123577828844/things-you-should-not-think-about-your-otp-doing) I couldn't leave it bittersweet, though.

#### Dream

He stretches and tries to wake himself up a little more before even attempting to speak. "Marty, I had the strangest dream last night! Well, maybe not the _strangest_ , but it's certainly worth mentioning. I was driving this vehicle, except it didn't look like the inside of any vehicle I've ever been in. There were all these flashing numbers and switches and buttons and things on the dashboard. Anyway, I was driving down some undefined road at a rather high speed, when suddenly there was this bright flash of light, and--"

Emmett turns over intending to face Marty, only to be met with thin air. Through the remaining haze of sleep, it takes a few moments for him to understand what he's seeing. When he realizes, and remembers, the air rushes out of him in a soft, heartbroken sigh. What's worse is there's not even the slightest sign Marty had slept there barely two days ago. The morning he left, Marty had helped him change the sheets. "To make things easier," he'd said. Emmett thinks he's coming to regret that decision now.

He crumples in on himself with a sadness that threatens to overwhelm him. As much as he wants to stay in bed, the bed he and Marty shared, he drags himself out of it instead before his mother starts calling for him. The questions she might be tempted to ask him aren't ones he's willing to answer.

* * *

#### Groceries

Grocery shopping starts off banally enough. Emmett and his mother split the list as usual, and he takes care of his half as any dutiful son would. He's done this so many times before that the aisles of products seem to go by in a blur as he hones in on the things he actually needs off his list. It isn't until he's ready to meet his mother by the checkout area that things take an unexpected nosedive.

"Emmett!" she calls out, and he looks up just in time to see her approach with some kind of round plastic container. "I know it isn't on the list, but I figured we could try something different for dessert tonight."

He doesn't understand what his mother is talking about; she makes a different dessert almost every night to go with dinner.

"I'm usually the one responsible for dessert -- and I don't plan on changing that -- but I figured it wouldn't do any harm to see what the bakery had to offer. You know, as an alternative."

Emmett focuses on the container his mother's holding, and flinches in shock when he realizes what it is. Judging from the cherry on top and the swirl pattern in the frosting, it's the same kind of cake he and Marty had had a couple of slices of a few days before he left. They'd helped the baker, and old German woman, move some heavy boxes and she paid them with two big slices of the cake she'd made. He remembers all too well how Marty tore into his own slice, getting crumbs on his face like a kid half his age. Emmett had come dangerously close to reaching out and wiping off Marty's face that day. The baker likely wouldn't have said anything about it, but Emmett had felt exposed just thinking about doing something like that in front of somebody else. Then the moment passed, and Emmett tried not to let himself feel like he'd missed out on something important.

He looks away, blindsided by the vividness of the memory. It's been nearly a week now, but the memory comes to him as though it had only happened yesterday. For a hot second, he feels like protesting his mother's choice of pastries, but the urge to fight leaves him just as quickly. He knows he can't come up with any kind of decent reason for her _not_ to get it, so he quietly lets her put the cake in her cart. He'll just have to refuse later on, because he's almost certain he won't be able to eat any of it.

* * *

#### Extra Place

"Emmett, would you be a dear and start setting the table for me?"

"Sure thing, Mother."

Emmett takes the plates and silverware into the dining room just as his father comes through the front door. The sound of his parents' conversation buzzes low in the distance while he puts everything down in its rightful place. Mrs. Brown had not too long ago discovered a magazine for homemaking and homemakers, and suddenly she's a stickler for table setting placement, even though she's the only one who appreciates it.

His father calls out to him, asking about his day (even though it's the weekend), and Emmett gets so distracted by the ensuing conversation he doesn't pay attention to what he's doing. When he steps back from the table to check/admire his work, he doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary at first.

Then he sees it: the extra setting that would've been for Marty. All its elements are placed perfectly, the same as the other settings. It only stands out by virtue of existing in the first place.

A month ago, his whole mood might've tanked from something so small. His mind would've taken him down a road of fantasies of all the things he and Marty could've done together, never got to do together, and he'd be distraught for the rest of the day. Now, however, he swiftly removes the extra setting from the table to put the plate and utensils back where they belong in the kitchen. He scolds himself for forgetting only three of everything is needed now, and that's the most he allows himself to think on the matter.

As he's leaving the kitchen, his mother's coming in, no doubt to start bringing the serving dishes of food out. "You did a wonderful job as always, Emmett," she tells him. "Thank you."

He makes sure to put a smile on his face when he faces her. "You're welcome," he replies.

* * *

#### Mess

There's still an area of the garage that's in disarray from some errant project he and Marty were working on. Various papers and parts lay everywhere as though abandoned right in the middle of work. A small, stubborn part of him wants to keep it that way; the chaos is confined to a specific area, it isn't sprawling all over the garage, so he doesn't feel bad. But his father had finally had enough and complained about it earlier in the week, saying something about how Emmett was too old to be leaving his things laying around like that.

Emmett knows this is part of the "moving on" process. It's been over two months since Marty left, he's not coming back, and Emmett can't keep parts of his life frozen like this. He tackles the cleaning job with a vigor born of anger; whether it's anger at his father, at Marty, or himself, he genuinely can't tell. He plows through the work, putting all the nuts and bolts and pieces of metal into the box next to him and stacking the papers off to the side on the worktable, stubbornly ignoring how his eyes want to well up whenever he spots something with traces of Marty's handwriting on it.

One blueprint draws his eye, and he picks it up to study it more closely. Not only is Marty's handwriting on it, it's got notes of his scrawled all over one corner. Emmett can see that, whatever it was they were working on, Marty had a lot to contribute. With the tips of his fingers, he reverently traces all the spots Marty wrote something. Bits and pieces of that week come back to him, how excited Marty was to be able to offer his input.

That particular blueprint ends up in Emmett's room, and he tells himself it's only because he wants to try salvaging the work on it for a later project.

* * *

#### Photograph

Emmett holds the framed photograph in his hands tightly, shocked by its reappearance after so many years. It's a simple black and white photo of him and Marty dressed in what passed for their "Sunday best" at that period in time. Out of Marty's whole outfit, only the shoes are his; everything else had been bought for him (by Emmett's mother, of course) when the clothes he'd first shown up at the Brown Estate in started to get too worn out. Emmett gently caresses Marty's image, remembering that day in full vibrant color. He's so distracted taking that lonely walk down memory lane, he almost doesn't hear his lab assistant calling for him.

When asked about the picture, for a white-hot second he's sorely tempted to show it to the boy, desperate for some sign of recognition he knows won't come. Even if it were possible, at this point in time things would become complicated in a way he couldn't forgive himself for. Thankfully, the urge passes and Emmett -- carefully -- shoves the picture back into the box it came from. He makes up some story that doesn't even sound real to his own ears, then distracts his young assistant with a physics experiment he's been working on for the past week.

* * *

Marty straightens his jacket for what feels like the millionth time. This picture is probably the only thing Emmett will have left of him for the next several decades ( _god_ , he thinks, _will it really be that long?_ ), and he wants to make it nice. He resists the urge to go look in the hand mirror Mrs. Brown brought for him to check his hair again, knowing that trying to "fix" it will just mess it up. He reminds himself Emmett had said he liked it, and that's all that matters. Speak of the devil...

His breath hitches in his throat when he spots Emmett finally coming downstairs. He's not sure if it's the hair (slicked back smooth, not a strand out of place), the suit (a dark blue one he's never seen before) or what, but Marty's pretty sure he's never seen Emmett look so well put-together. He's reminded of the evening he took Jennifer to Junior Prom; by that point, he'd already started questioning his feelings for her, but seeing her in that lilac dress looking like a princess was enough to get him to put all that out of his mind and enjoy the night.

"It's about time, boy," Mr. Brown says gruffly. "I was about ready to come and get you!" Mrs. Brown coos and fusses over Emmett, as mothers are wont to do over their sons whenever they get dressed up. Marty, for his part, is speechless and waiting for Emmett's mother to be done with him.

When Emmett finally steps over to where the two of them will stand in front of the camera, Marty still can't think of anything to say beyond "you look good", but that seems so inadequate here. His heart is pounding through a strange mix of longing and affection in his chest, and he wonders if this is what people feel like on their wedding day.

Emmett blinks at him, his nervous smile faltering a bit, and asks, "is it too much?"

Marty realizes he must've been staring, and hurries to reassure his friend. "N-no! _God_ , no Emmett, you're fine. Just fine." He wants to say something sappy about how it could never be "too much" as long as he gets to see Emmett's face and smile every day for the rest of his life. For better or worse, his sense of self-preservation won't let him embarrass himself quite that much. Not to mention, it probably wouldn't go over too well with Emmett's parents.

Mr. Brown calls out to them. "All right you two, take your positions. And no messing around! Film doesn't grow on trees, you know." He could afford to buy it like it does, but that isn't the point.

Out of habit, Emmett stands almost ramrod-straight, looking dead-on at the camera, a rather serious expression on his face. Marty tries to do the same, until he thinks about how the end result is going to look. How neat and stiff and proper and completely emotionless they're going to look. How the picture won't really be something for Emmett to remember him by, not really, because it'll look like every other damn picture in the house.

Mr. Brown's on "1" of his countdown when Marty interrupts him. "Woah, woah, wait a sec!" He unbuttons his suit jacket that he didn't want to wear all that much anyway and tosses it off to the side. He breathes a sigh of relief, feeling like himself again.

Then, he throws an arm around Emmett's shoulder.

"Relax," Marty says around a chuckle when Emmett startles. "This is the only picture you're gonna have of me, so I wanna make it a good one." When Mr. Brown asks them if they're quite done, Marty gives him the ok to take the picture. Marty can't help but find it novel that he can stand with his friend like this without Emmett having to lean or stoop down. He does _not_ think about how this is likely the last time that will be true.

Marty hates that he has to leave immediately after, but Doc had told him to be waiting by the billboard sign (that would one day hold an ad for Lyon Estates) by 10 a.m. If he leave now, he'll be a few minutes late, but that's better than dawdling too long and Doc coming to look for him and getting into some kind of trouble. Trouble seems to follow the both of them when time travel's involved.

The few belongings he's acquired during his stay at the Brown Estate can fit in a single suitcase. He sets it by the door before saying his goodbyes to the family, approaching each member in turn (Mr. Brown gives a brief, heartfelt handshake; Mrs. Brown stifles what might be a small sob as she hugs him). When he gets to Emmett, the boy looks like he's going for a handshake like his father, and Marty _so_ isn't having that. Instead, he sweeps Emmett into his embrace and holds him as tightly as his small frame will allow. Once Emmett recovers from the shock, he returns the embrace.

Marty's close to tears at this point, and it's evident in the sound of his voice, but he doesn't give a damn. "I'm gonna miss you so much, Emmett. I..." He thinks carefully about what he says next, suddenly remembering Emmett's parents are still in the room. "You have _no idea_ what you mean to me." It's close enough to the truth of what he feels that he needs to say it in a near whisper.

Emmett tightens his grip, and they stay that way for a few moments before Emmett answers him. "If it's anywhere close to how I feel about you, I think I've got more than just an 'idea'." Now, _that_ has Marty's eyes getting wet.

The boys pull away from each other, and Marty picks up his discarded suit jacket before leaving. He focuses on the weight of the suitcase in his hand as he heads out the door, feeling like some twisted version of Orpheus: he must not look back, lest _he_ be the one to get dragged back.

He's so intent on not thinking about anything that the walk to the outskirts of Hill Valley seems to take no time at all. The DeLorean's parked by the billboard, just as he expected.

Doc asks him if he's alright, and he answers in the affirmative. There isn't much else to say; Marty knows how good Doc's memory is, so unless he deliberately made himself forget about this day somehow, he knows what Marty just got through doing.

Marty avoids looking at Doc the whole ride home. He's not sure what scares him more, that he'll look into Doc's eyes and see the young man he just left behind in the past, or that he won't.

* * *

Emmett goes to pick up the developed photo the next day while out running an errand for his father. The quality of it is excellent, and he stares at the black and white photo for a long while before telling the clerk so. When she asks him if he's alright, he frowns in confusion before realizing he can feel wetness on his cheeks.

* * *

About a week after his trip to the 1930s, a black and white photo turns up in Doc's things. Marty recognizes it first by the frame; he vaguely remembers seeing it years ago, when he'd first started working for Doc. He'd wondered why the man had shoved it back into the box when Marty had asked him about it.

Now, he knows why.

The rush of memories assaults him, and he almost doesn't hear Doc enter this part of the garage.

"Hey Doc," he says, holding up the picture where he knows the man can see it. "I'm glad you kept it."

Doc sputters a bit, then sighs, like he's disappointed in himself, and Marty can't for the life of him figure out why. "Marty, I'm sorry. I never intended for you to find that." He walks over to Marty, planning to take the photo from him. "Would you mind putting it back?"

Marty whirls around on him with a sense of urgency. "'Never intended for me to find it'? The hell's that supposed to mean? And don't _apologize_ , Doc, you've got nothing to be sorry for!" Doc scoffs at this, clearly believing otherwise. Marty scrubs his hand down the side of his face in frustration and moves in closer before continuing.

"Look," he says, "back on that day, when I said what I did, and you said what you did, did you feel sorry about it afterward? Even for a moment?" He's looking straight in Doc's eyes now, and it hurts a little, because he can still see _his_ Emmett in them.

Doc returns his gaze with far more confidence than he's feeling at the moment. "Of course not, Marty. I've seldom been more sincere about anything since that day." Then he looks away and minutely shrinks in on himself, as if he's exhausted by this whole ordeal. "But I'm not that boy anymore. I'm an old man, Marty, and you...aren't."

They stand like that in silence for the longest time, before Marty speaks.

"Pfft, like that's ever stopped me before," he says, thinking of all his (unsubtle, unsuccessful) flirting attempts in the past.

Doc must be thinking of the same thing, because he laughs a little, and Marty's relieved that that's his reaction.

Doc steps forward and gently takes the framed photograph out of Marty's hand. He considers it for a moment, how happy they both look, all smiles and close body language. How there's not the slightest foreshadowing of the heartache Emmett would suffer through in the coming days, weeks, months. He sighs, a little more fondly but still bittersweet, and puts the picture back in the box it came from. He's quiet, deep in thought over what he's going to say.

"Obviously, I can't make you do or not do something. _That_ particular lesson I've learned the hard way. Many times over, in fact." He turns to face Marty, and there's something a little imploring in his eyes. "But whatever you decide, don't just rush into it blindly. _Please_. Hill Valley's certainly a nice place to live, but you know how people can talk."

Doc passes by Marty to head for another part of the garage, but pauses. "Besides. I know what it's like to spend a chunk of your youth wondering what could have been. The absolute last thing I want to do is put that on you."

* * *

#### Twenty Fifteen

"You're damned stubborn, you know that?"

Marty looks down from his spot on metal ladder leaning up against Jennifer's house. He sees Doc with his arms folded, looking unimpressed with the job he's doing. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but did you see what those guys wanted to charge her just to clean the gutters? No way in hell I'm letting her spend that much when I can do just as good a job, _for free_."

Doc watches Marty go back to clearing out the dead leaves and who knows what else from the gutters. "Marty, while your generosity is commendable and one of the many things I adore about you, I seem to recall Jennifer saying she'd take care of it, and specifically telling you not to worry about it." He narrows his eyes up at his husband when Marty almost loses his balance, pretending like his heart didn't leap into his throat for a moment. "This is the exact opposite of not worrying about it!"

After re-situating himself, Marty smiles down at Doc. "Well, you know me. I'm always worrying about the people I care about the most." A few minutes go by in silence, with Marty tossing down big handfuls of waste into the collection bucket on the ground and Doc standing close to the ladder, in case Marty has another mishap. "Besides, me being so 'damned stubborn', as you put it, is pretty much why we're together in the first place. So it can't be all that bad, right?"

Doc looks up at him again, and admires the way the gray in Marty's hair catches the sunlight. "No, I suppose it can't."

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if the formatting looks weird, I'm trying my own work skin.


End file.
